


untitled Why We Fight patch

by thatotherperv



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s05e13 Why We Fight, Fix-It, M/M, Pre-Canon, Spike: the Masochist, Spike: the Predator, cleaning up canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-21
Updated: 2007-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-06 05:57:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatotherperv/pseuds/thatotherperv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>set during As5 Why We Fight. an attempt to patch some of the things that always bugged me, mostly having to do with Spike's oblivousness. we know for a fact that he can be a perceptive guy, and I always found that somewhat unbelievable</p>
            </blockquote>





	untitled Why We Fight patch

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted [here](http://thatotherperv.livejournal.com/113112.html)

Angel was draining the life out of someone for the first time in 43 years. The boy struggled at first—didn’t they always?—but his blood was sweet with youth and idealism, and Angel drank greedily, only remembering to tear into his own wrist and offer it at the last minute.

He fed this one from the wrist, not the throat. This wasn’t about pleasure. It was about duty.

Angel checked the pulse of the Nazi, knocked him in the head again for good measure, and dragged him into the next compartment, propping him against a wall. Then he returned for the boy…carried the limp body through to the sleeping quarters that now served as a morgue, and as he lay the boy’s lifeless body on the military-issue bunk, the full weight of what he’d just done hit him. Predictably, guilt and sorrow followed swiftly behind. Another life on his hands…another monster. He’d tried so hard to steer clear of temptation.

He hardly had time to mourn before he felt someone enter behind him.

Spike. He should be glad it wasn’t one of the crew. It was better if they had no idea what had happened to their commanding officer.

“Well, well, someone’s a bit of a hypocrite. Got a bit peckish, did you?”

Spike swaggered closer to join Angel. His eyes narrowed on blood-stained lips. “Thought you were too intent on gettin’ us to the surface to play these kinds of games, Angelus. Isn’t that what you said?”

“It’s none of your concern.”

Spike scoffed. “Beg to differ, since I don’t fancy ending up a pin-cushion for the Krauts. An’ isn’t that boy the Head Monkey, anyway? Why couldn’t you go and get all fang-happy on one of the others? I know, how bout the chunky one. He seems more to your taste these days. I get the feeling you’ve been loading up on fatty treats because your arse is as big as a—”

All the hot air ‘oof’ed out of the brat as Angel slammed him into the metal wall with a dull rattle. “You never did learn how to keep your mouth shut.”

Spike was short of breath—and not from the physical blow. It gave Angel a long-dormant sense of satisfaction. Spike always did like it when things got rough—and he never was able to hide it. 

His voice was rough and low, and they were so close that Angel could feel the air pass over his face. “Funny, I was gonna say I’ve never seen you run yours so little. You’re different, Angel. And if it weren’t for that boy you just killed, I’d think—”

Angel’s tongue was in Spike’s mouth before he could finish the dangerous thought. The only thing that had ever interested Spike more than hearing himself talk was a good hard fuck—good to know that still worked like a charm.

Angel pressed Spike hard into the wall and unleashed every pent-up emotion he’d felt since seeing the idiot crouched in the submarine’s hatch. Since he had seen the file the American military had handed him and known he was successfully blackmailed. If it weren’t for Spike’s eternal impetuosity, Angel would still be safe in his apartment, stocked up on animal blood and whiskey. 

Instead he was trapped in a tin-can full of humans, and he’d just ripped the innocence out of another man…spawned another demon. One more thing to wake him sweating in the middle of the night. He’d already had plenty.

‘Angry’ didn’t cover it, he told himself as he spun Spike face-first into the wall and dropped both their pants. ‘Annoyed’ didn’t even come close. 

Already panting, Spike shouted and arched his back when Angel plowed right into him. He muffled the alarming sound with his hand as he pounded all his frustration into the boy—still a boy, still _his_ and always would be—and soon it turned to moaning. Slim hips churned back into his and Angel uncovered Spike’s mouth, quickly replacing it with his wrist.

He hissed in pleasure as familiar fangs sliced into his flesh, then struck fast and hard at Spike’s throat. A few violent thrusts later and he was tightening his grip on Will’s chest as the boy jerked in pleasure. 

Angel rammed forward brutally and let himself go, snarling around a mouthful of flesh.

When the frenzy was gone, he leaned heavily against Spike, hips still rocking forward restlessly. Spike was panting, pressed securely between him and the wall, and for a few blissful moments Angel was filled with smug glee.

When actual thoughts started filtering back through, they were uncomfortable, and filled with less-welcome emotions. Like homesickness. And relief for Spike’s well-being. And a warm, exasperated parental affection that he shouldn’t feel for this monster he’d created. Just like the boy lying cold and inanimate on the bunk, Spike had once tasted of idealism. Of innocence—even long after Drusilla had murdered him because Angelus wanted a distraction to keep her contented and out of his hair. Now he just tasted like family.

Angel shouldn’t take comfort in that, but he did.

And there it was. Guilt. Layers and layers of it. Fucking soul. Brow-beat him with everything he’d ever done, urging him relentlessly to atone. It was exhausting.

When Spike stirred, Angel pinned him firmly against the wall at the neck. He didn’t want to move yet. His thoughts were troubled, but they were better than the alternative—there were things he had to deal with to get them all out of this mess, but he wasn’t ready. Wanted to be selfish a little while longer. What was that one vice, under the weight of all this sin?

 _All_ of his sins, it seemed, wrapped up in one compact body. All of his vice.

Spike jarred against the hold, growing irritated. “Get—”

The insult was choked off by Angel’s grip tightening on his throat. “No.”

_Stay put. Be a good lad. Let me do this._

Spike stiffened silently when the choking hand moved away, replaced with gentle lips. Angel loosed a few buttons of the uniform and found a hard nipple on an exertion-slick chest. His fingers toyed with it as his mouth toyed with the soft flesh of his earlobe—sucking, not biting…rolling, not pinching. Touching in ways he’d never bothered with before. No pain or malice.

It was a balm when Spike sucked in air with a pleasured shudder. And a shallow cut when he spoke with disbelief and wariness. “Angelus….”

“Don’t.”

William had always wanted this. 

…Well, he actually _hadn’t_ at first, had he? At first, all he had wanted was acceptance, approval. As simple as praise or camaraderie. But later—after Angelus had broken him of morals but not romanticism—he’d secretly wanted this. He’d learned to like it rough, Spike had. Angelus had made sure of that. What was the fun in fucking a body if you weren’t already fucking the mind? But Spike never stopped wanting his acceptance for some damn reason, and the poet in him thought if Angel took him just once with something other than brutality….

Angelus had known that, of course. And he’d exploited it ruthlessly. The ever-dangling carrot.

He deserved the sting of realizing that Spike thought he was still playing him.

He took him again. Some pain was inevitable, no matter how much care he might take…even after sharing blood, Spike’s flesh hadn’t had time to knit itself closed where Angel had torn into him hastily. But Spike liked pain— _his fault_ —and Angel…. 

Angel _was_ different.

Slow, deep, pointed strokes. A hand fondling him as he’d never deigned to do before. Too-soft lips on his throat…sucking at the closing wound instead of slicing and taking. This time he didn’t cover Spike’s mouth—he didn’t want to muffle the low, surprised moans at each inward stroke of his cock. 

The men should all be safely in the control room, but even if they weren’t, right now Angel didn’t care. He’d pulled many sounds from this body over the years. None of them had ever appealed to him as much as this.

Spike’s orgasm was long and protracted, and the _sound_ he made…that desperate, grateful sound…brought Angel off quickly, more intensely than the first time if that was possible.

After they’d both stopped moving once and for all, the room was too quiet and still, and Angel wasn’t sure quite how to touch Spike. His body was already tensing against Angel’s, as though affection stung as badly as the alternative. Eventually Angel stepped away altogether and tucked himself back into his pants. 

Defenses were shrugged on alongside clothing, and by the time Spike turned around, Angel could see that his guard was already back up, which shouldn’t surprise him. His boy was resilient, and he’d learned certain lessons very well.

But it was still a kick in the gut when he turned suspicious, bewildered eyes on Angel. His voice was subdued. “What the bloody hell kind of mind game was that?”

The hell of it was, Angel didn’t know.

At his silent stare, Spike bristled further. “’M not a fledge that you can wind around your finger with a bit of affection anymore.”

He really wasn’t. 

Angel forced himself to smirk. “You never were too bright. It was worth a try.”

Spike’s jaw flexed. He seemed on the verge of losing his temper for a moment, but shook it off in favor of a falsely easy demeanor. 

Angel felt a strange sense of pride in that show of control. There had been a time when Spike hadn’t been able to brush off his insults so readily.

They both turned their attention to the bunk as Lawson stirred, grateful for the distraction. 

A fast rising. Lucky thing, too. Distant enemy fire sounded above them, and the air was growing stale. The sooner they got the propulsion systems up and running, the better.

Spike’s shoulder brushed his. “A little brother, eh? Good-looking brat.” If Angel didn’t know better, he’d think that was a note of jealousy. Spike turned to him and grinned. “Then again, you always did have good taste.” The playful tease of a tongue brushed away the last of the earlier tension and Angel swatted him upside the head good-naturedly.

“Straighten yourself up and go keep an eye on the men.” 

Spike rolled his eyes but moved to obey—a little _too_ eagerly. Angel let him get to the door before he called him back.

“Spike.” When he turned, Angel gestured towards Lawson’s dead body. “This changes nothing. Keep your fangs away from the crew.”

Spike scowled predictably. “Dunno what the bloody hell we’re saving them for, and don’t give me all that ‘man the ship’ bollocks. We could just swim out the same way you swam in. Not like we really need it.”

He did, actually, if he was going to keep them all safe. But Spike didn’t need to know that. 

When he didn’t answer, Angel could almost _hear_ Spike decide to change tactics. “What about the Kraut? Can I eat him?”

Angel turned back to the boy, who should be rising any minute. “I have plans for him.”

Spike scoffed, mumbling loud enough for Angel to catch every word. “Typical. New obsession _always_ gets best pickings. What does good old Spike get? A sore arse, that’s what.”

Angel’s smile was hidden from view. “Spike. Just do as I say.”

Disgusted, Spike turned and walked out. “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Da.”

Angel laughed to himself and turned back to watch as Lawson awoke to his new life. Another fledge. At least this one wouldn’t know the cruel kind of attention he’d reserved for the last. He wondered if that made the weight on his soul any lighter.

He’d have to kick those two off the submarine sooner than later, for everyone’s safety. Never trust a government not to double-cross you. And never trust vampires not to do what vampires did best. Lawson was a controllable element, but Spike was more of a liability. 

He’d get them out of hostile territory…maybe head towards Ireland, then give them both their walking papers.

Spike was bound to _love_ that.

**Author's Note:**

> sadly, never gonna happen now, but I had this bunny for a sequel, in which Spike's suspicions on Angle's behavior are somewhat confirmed, as a lead-in to School Hard. Spike/Lawson, because...come on, they *did* get off the sub together. and somehow Lawson learned enough about being a vamp to survive for 60 years.


End file.
